812 
N 83s 


Digitized  by  the  Internet  Archive 
in  2017  with  funding  from 

University  of  Illinois  Urbana-Champaign  Alternates 


https://archive.org/details/sapphoclassicohiOOnort 


Copyright,  1891,  1894,  by  Edgar  S.  Werner. 


'■res-  1=5  Nov.  W 


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)Sico-3(istorical  * 3?  lay  * for  * Si rh 


By  JESSIE  NORTON. 


+ Sla 


Historical  Facts. 

ABOUT  l)00  B.C.,  Sappho,  a Grecian  widow,  founded 
a school  of  poetry  on  the  Island  of  Lesbos.  Her 
fame  spread  throughout  Greece.  She  gathered  around 
her  many  brilliant  women,  among  whom  were  Damo- 
phyla,  known  by  her  hymn  to  Artemis,  and  Erinna, 
who  died  broken-hearted  when  compelled  to  leave  the 
literary  delights  of  Lesbos  for  the  drudgery  of  spin- 
ning in  her  Rhodan  home.  Tradition  says  that  Sappho 
loved  Pliaon,  a Lesbian  youth,  who  did  not  return  her 
love,  and  for  whom  she  threw  herself  from  the  far- 
famed  “ Lover’s  Leap,”  thus  perishing. 


Dramatis  Personae. 

Sappho,  the  Lesbian  poetess. 
Damophyla,  one  of  Sappho’s  pupils. 
Erinna,  one  of  Sappho’s  pupils. 
Phaon,  a Lesbian  youth. 
Attendants. 


Costumes,  Stage-Setting’s,  Etc. 

The  costumes  of  Sappho,  Damophyla  and  Erinna 
should  be  of  soft  Grecian  draperies  with  borders. 
White  with  a gold  border  is  very  effective,  although 
any  delicate  color  may  be  used. 

Phaon  should  wear  scarlet  and  gold  embroidered 
drapery,  leaving  the  left  arm  exposed.  Sandals  and 
flesh-colored  stockings  cover  the  feet  of  everybody. 

The  Attendants’  garments  are  equal  to  the  other 
costumes  in  grace  of  drapery,  but  without  borders. 

The  hair  of  the  ladies  should  ,be  softly  wavy,  and 
bound  in  a knot  at  the  back  of  the  head.  Pearls,  gold 
braid,  or  ribbons  may  be  used  for  ornamentation. 
Pliaon's  hair  should  be  short  and  curly. 

For  Scenes  I.,  II.,  and  IV.,  the  stage  may  be  arranged 
with  statuary,  Grecian  vases,  flowers,  a backless  couch 
piled  with  cushions,  a chair  having  no  back  but  with 
rests  for  the  arms  on  the  sides,  and  low  stools.  White 
fur  rugs  may  be  strewn  here  and  there  on  the  floor. 
The  walls  should  be  hung  with  some  soft  material,  and 
a Grecian  figure  should  go  around  the  walls  as  a dado. 
This  can  be  made  of  gilt  paper.  A statue  or  bust  of 
Artemis,  the  Roman  Diana,  is  necessary.  The  flat 
antique  lamp  holding  burning  incense,  which  an  At- 


tendant brings  in  in  Scene  II.,  may  be  placed  on  the 
pedestal,  or  a draped  table  serving  as  an  altar. 

Three  Attendants  are  needed.  They  appear  through- 
out the  play  in  positions  as  graceful  as  possible.  One 
may  fan  Sappho  with  a peacock-feather  fan,  another 
may  crouch  at  the  foot  of  her  couch,  while  a third  may 
show  in  the  visitors. 

In  Scene  III.  the  walls  should  be  covered  with  sombre 
drapery,  and  the  stage  clear  of  all  things  save  a spin- 
ning-wheel and  stool.  A gauze  or  mosquito-net  curtain 
should  be  stretched  across  the  back  of  the  stage,  be- 
hind which  the  Ghost  may  appear.  The  Ghost  should 
be  dressed  in  white  gauzy  material.  Her  face  need 
not  be  covered,  as  the  net  curtain  and  low  lights  ren- 
der her  sufficiently  spirit-like.  Blue  lights  should  be 
turned  on  as  she  appears. 

If  the  dialogue  between  Erinna  and  the  Spirit  is 
found  too  difficult,  a pantomime  may  be  substituted, 
expressing,  on  Erinna’s  part,  surprise,  recognition,  en- 
treaty, breathless  attention  and,  as  the  Spirit  passes 
out,  death;  on  the  Spirit’s  part,  recognition,  blessing, 
guidance  to  heaven.  The  Spirit  passes  out  pointing  to 
heaven,  leaving  Erinna  prostrate.  This  affords  excel- 
lent opportunity  for  a display  of  Delsarte  principles. 


<s) 

09 


SCENE  I. 


[At  Lesbos.  Sappho  reclining  in  her  home 
amid  flowers  and  attendants.  Erinna  is 
led  forward.] 

Sappho.  Sweet  maid,  with  laughing,  violet 
eyes 

Reflecting  here  Rhodes'  azure  skies, 

Draw  near,  nor  tremble  that  you  come 
To  this,  the  sacred  Muses’  home. 

Erinna.  Oh,  blazing  Star  of  Lesbian  song. 

O Sappho,  known  by  praises  long, 

Do  I at  last  behold  your  grace  ? 

And  see  at  last  your  longed-for  face  ? 

A simple  maiden  here  I stand, 

A stranger  from  a far  off  land, 

Attracted  to  this  far-famed  strand 
By  your  white,  beckoning,  poet  hand. 

Oh,  here  beside  you  let  me  stay, 

Most  glorious  lady,  say  not  “nay.” 

Oh,  let  me  add  my  feeble  light 
To  your  great  constellation  bright. 

Sappho.  Sweet  maid,  I pray  you  calm  your 
fears, 

Nor  let  your  eyes  grow  dim  with  tears. 

No  haughty,  distant  star  am  I, 
High-stationed  in  an  unknown  sky — 

A woman  only,  with  a heart 
As  prone  as  yours  with  pain  to  smart, 

As  prone  as  yours  with  joy  to  start. 

So  here  beside  me  sweetly  rest, 

And  ease  with  words  your  throbbing  breast; 

As  to  a loving  sister  tell 

What  fountain-thoughts  within  you  well. 

Erinna.  O kindest  one,  by  poets  sung, 

Of  noble  parents  I am  sprung. 


My  mother  perished  at  my  birth ; 

My  father  since  has  scorned  all  mirth, 

And  mourns  with  deep  and  deeper  grief 
For  love  and  happiness  too  brief. 

No  guidance  kind  I ever  knew; 

Neglected  and  unloved  I grew. 

But  as  the  winged  seasons  sped, 

And  years  passed  o’er  my  childish  head, 
There  grew  and  grew  a constant  pain, 

Nor  ceased  with  sunshine  nor  with  rain — 

A wish  for  joys  to  me  unknown. 

And  so  one  day  I made  my  moan 
Before  my  father ; lowly  prayed 
To  seek  afar  your  kindly  aid." 

With  sternest  “No,”  and  frowning  gloom, 
He  set  me  tasks  at  wheel  and  loom. 

But  ever  in  my  breast  a spark 
Of  hope,  though  dim,  dispelled  the  dark ; 
And  ever  and  anon  it  woke 
Into  a flame,  and  then  I spoke 
Again  before  my  dreaded  sire, 

Who  ever  quenched  the  wayward  fire. 

At  last,  when  hope  was  nearly  spent, 

He,  grudging,  gave  a slow  consent ; 

Perhaps  grown  weary  of  my  tears, 

Perhaps  from  hidden  father-fears, 

For  oh,  great  Sappho,  well  I knew 
That  I had  lost  health’s  rosy  hue. 

So  I have  dared  for  help  to  come 
To  this,  your  far-famed  poet’s  home ; 

So  I have  dared  in  my  great  need 
Before  you  here  my  cause  to  plead. 

Sweet  Sappho,  send  me  not  away; 

Oh,  kindly  say  that  I may  stay. 

Sappho.  I grant  the  boon  for  which  you  pray. 


Fair  maiden,  Sappho  answers,  “ Stay.” 

Erinna.  Great,  kindest  lady,  let  me  kneel ! 

I cannot  tell  the  joy  I feel ! 

My  star  more  bright  than  stars  above, 

For  this  I give  my  whole  heart’s  love. 

If  I for  you  should  spill  my  blood, 

’Twould  not  express  my  gratitude. 

Sappho.  Nay,  rise,  dear  maiden.  Say  not  so. 
'Tis  little  that  to  me  you  owe. 

But  to  your  own  soul  all  in  all; 

Too  great  to  bide  the  stinging  thrall 
That  weighed  you  down ; for  far  and  wide, 
In  every  land,  on  every  tide, 

Where’er  is  found  the  human  race, 

The  woman  holds  th’  inferior  place. 

’Tis  mail’s  the  awful  depths  to  sound 
Which  in  the  soul  and  mind  are  found; 

’Tis  woman’s  but  his  babe  to  tend, 

And  gentle  ministries  to  lend. 

’Tis  man’s  to  thread  the  mystic  maze 
Of  number’s  many- winding  ways; 

’Tis  woman’s  but  to  watch  and  wait 
For  his  returning  at  the  gate. 

’Tis  man’s  to  mount  on  poet’s  wing, 

And  from  the  distant  skies  to  sing ; 

’Tis  woman’s  but  to  watch  and  sigh, 

The  board  to  All,  the  needle  ply. 

Tis  man’s  ’mid  mighty  deeds  to  fall 
For  country’s  sake,  bewailed  by  all; 

’Tis  woman’s  for  her  lord  to  weep, 

Then  all  unnoticed  pass  in  sleep. 

He  is  a thing  of  strength  and  power, 

She  but  the  plaything  of  an  hour. 

I dreamed  my  dream.  I struck  my  stroke. 
My  die  I cast.  My  chains  I broke. 


ERINNA. 


SAPPHO. 


DAMOPHYLA. 


SAPPHO. 


And  here  in  freedom’s  light  I stand— 

A woman— free— on  Lesbos’  strand! 

I know  they  think  of  me  with  scorn, 

And  maidens  blush  like  rosy  morn 
To  hear  my  name;  but  not  a throe 
Can  I e’er  feel— no  throb  of  woe ; 

For  yonder  arching  heavens  know 
That  I am  pure  as  spotless  snow. 

Erinna.  No!  No!  No!  surely  never  blame 
Attaches  to  your  honored  name! 

Sappho.  And  so  your  trusting  eyes  mistook 
The  double  word,  the  meaning  look! 

Ah ! happy,  happy  have  you  been, 

Too  innocent  to  dream  of  sin. 

But  when  its  sick’ning,  stern  amaze 
Shall  burst  upon  your  wond’ring  gaze, 

Dull  care  will  rest  upon  your  heart, 

And  never,  nevermore  depart. 

Enough ! may  you  forever  find 
The  heaven  of  a guiltless  mind . 

Oh,  may  a sweet,  contented  lot, 

Be  yours  within  this  favored  spot. 

But  see,  Damophyla  is  near, 

One  of  our  school  of  poesy  here. 

[Enter  Damophyla.] 

Damophyla.  Good  morning.  Sappho!  Did  a 
lovelier  day 

E’er  crown  her  head  with  sunshine’s  golden 
ray  ? 

Sappho.  And  did  a sweeter  breeze  e’er  waft  a 
bark 

That  bore  to  us  a friend  o’er  waters  dark  ? 

Damophyla  [to  Erinna].  Ah,  blessed  are  you 
if  you  come  to  stay 


'Where  winged  Calliope  extends  her  sway; 
And  doubly  welcome  if  you  come  to  learn 
Upon  her  altars  incense  sweet  to  burn. 

Erinna.  I thank  you  for  your  welcome.  Yes, 
I fain 

Would  strive  to  join  Calliope’s  blest  train. 

Sappho.  And  though  unknown  to  fame  you 
see  her  now, 

She  may  yet  wear  the  laurel  on  her  brow. 
But  you,  my  proud  Damophyla,  I pray, 

How  have  you  spent  the  morning  hours 
to-day  ? 

Damophyla.  Oh,  I have  idled  all  the  hours 
away, 

Nor  made  one  line  of  verse,  I grieve  to  say, 
Although  I rose  at  dawn  with  purpose  stern 
To  fill  my  tablets  ere  the  stars  should  burn. 

Sappho.  Perhaps  some  thought  within  your 
mind  has  stirred 

That  yet  may  grow  into  a glowing  word. 

Damoph\tla.  I know  not,  for  all  day  my  rest- 
less mind 

Has  been  as  fitful  as  the  changing  wind. 

At  first  I sat  and  wrote  within  my  bower. 

I could  not  bide  the  place  more  than  an  hour. 
I then  into  the  court  my  tablets  bore, 

Where  I erased  the  lines  I made  before ; 
Began  anew,  and  wrote,  while  every  verse 
Grew  more  unmusical,  and  worse  and  worse. 
At  last  I found  myself  in  such  a pet, 

I rushed  off  to  the  woods  to  still  my  fret; 
And  there  I threw  myself  upon  the  ground. 
Quite  soothed  and  rested  by  the  streamlet’s 
sound. 


Sappho.  And  has  the  streamlet's  song  such 
magic  powers 

To  hold  you  there  through  all  the  morning 
hours  ? 


Damophyla.  Oh,  no!  but  soon  I caught,  with 
much  surprise, 

The  merry  glances  of  two  sparkling  eyes; 
And  saw  before  me  there  a little  child, 

With  cheeks  and  lips  all  stained  by  berries 
wild. 

I washed  his  rosy  face  with  water  bright, 
Around  his  form  I threw  my  cloak  so  white, 
And  shook  his  tangled  yellow  curls  apart — 
I surely  in  their  meshes  left  my  heart, 

For  then,  so  bright  and  lovely  did  he  seem, 
I feared  that  he  would  vanish  like  a dream ; 
And  so  my  most  engaging  arts  I tried 
To  keep  him  happy  by  the  fountain- side. 

At  last,  unwillingly.  I saw  how  high 
Apollo  drove  his  chariot  through  the  sky. 

As  I was  loath  to  leave  the  lovely  child, 

He  came  with  me,  by  promised  gifts  be- 
guiled. 

While  we  were  passing  through  the  village 
street, 

A woman  wild  with  grief  we  chanced  to 
meet. 

‘ ‘ My  son ! my  son ! ” and  ’fore  my  very  face 
She  clasped  him,  cloak  and  all,  in  her  em- 
brace. 

A brawling  woman,  stout,  with  brawny 
arms; 

But  yet  for  me  her  mother-love  had  charms. 
Whene'er  the  boy  shall  reach  a fitting  age, 

I think  that  I must  have  him  for  my  page. 


6 


SAPPHO. 


Sappho.  Though  proud  your  heart,  Damo- 
phyla,  and  cold, 

It  surely  must  some  germ  of  warmth  enfold, 
For  many  times  I've  noted  it  and  smiled. 
How  oft  you  look  with  love  upon  a child. 

Damophyla.  You  do  me  great  injustice,  you 
would  find. 

If  you  could  fathom  all  my  soul  and  mind. 
Say,  do  you  think  me  haughty,  bashful  maid, 
And  proud  and  cold,  as  Sappho  just  has  said  ? 

Erinna.  I — I — I cannot  tell.  How  can  I 
know  ? 

Sappho.  In  truth,  she  met  you  but  an  hour 
ago. 

Dear  maiden,  you  awearied  are,  I fear, 

With  journeying.  I will  not  keep  you  here. 
So  to  your  bower  Damophyla  shall  lead. 
Where  you  may  find  refreshment  that  you 
need. 

Damophyla.  Yes,  come,  dear  maid,  [aside] 
and  I will  try  to  show 
My  heart  a little  warmer  than  the  snow. 

[Exeunt  Damophyla  and  Erinna.] 

Sappho.  Ah  me,  how  wondrous  is  the  human 
soul ! 

How  many  billows  through  its  caverns  roll, 
More  deep,  more  unexplainable,  more  strange 
Than  those  which  through  the  ocean  caverns 
range ! 

My  soul,  thou  art  the  North  Sea’s  ice-tipped 
wave ; 

The  tropic  warmth  that  Afric’s  sun  has 
given ; 


The  cruel  foam  that  decks  the  sailor’s  grave ; 
The  azure  depths  as  blue  as  cloudless 
heaven. 

And  this  one  makes  thee  calm  as  summer 
skies ; 

Another  brings  the  heavy  gloom  of  night ; 

And  that  one  makes  thy  heaving  billows  rise, 
And  fills  thy  leaping  waves  with  glowing 
light. 

I love  him!  oh,  I love  him!  but,  ah  me! 

I know  not  am  I loved.  Within  my  breast 

How  fades  the  glowing  flame!  How  sud- 
denly 

Its  ashes  drift  and  drift  in  sad  unrest! 

And  yet  I know  that  I am  very  fair, 

That  many  for  my  precious  love  have 
sighed. 

One  sought  to  win  my  hand  by  valor  rare, 
And,  wreathed  with  gore,  amid  his  honors 
died. 

Another  at  my  feet  heaped  treasured  gold 
And  Eastern  pearls,  to  deck  me  as  his  bride 

With  rarest  gems  and  spices — wealth  untold. 
I loved  him  not;  I thrust  them  all  aside. 

And  one  my  praise  in  lofty  strains  has  sung, 
And  one  has  proffered  me  a noble  name, 

And  one  a breaking  heart  before  me  Hung, 
Nor  ever  love  into  my  spirit  came — 

Not  even  when  to  him  my  hand  I gave 

Who  lies  deep  slumbering  in  an  honored 
grave. 

O Love,  great  conqueror,  I pray  thee  tell 
How  opened  thou  the  barred  gates  of  my 
soul  ? 

How  dared  thou  fold  thy  pinions  there  to 
dwell  ? 


Unasked  thou  cam’st  for  either  bliss  or 
dole. 

Oh.  tell  me  true,  to  still  my  rising  fears, 
Wherefore  thou  cam’st:  To  sing  a mar- 
riage song  ? 

Or  over  Hope’s  cold  shroud  to  weep  sad  tears 
And  deck  her  grave  with  withered  flowers 
ere  long  ? 

[57/ e stops  and  listens.] 

Ye  flowers,  be  still,  nor  let  a petal  fall ! 

I hear  a step  within  the  outer  hall. 

Oh,  rest,  ye  winds!  and  list,  thou  noisy  bird! 

Is  it  a step  that  ye  before  have  heard  ? 

“ 'Tis  he!  ’tis  he!  ” ye  all  together  cry. 

Oh,  boast  ye  not,  ye  knew  him  soon  as  I. 

He  comes!  he  comes!  the  sunshine  of  my 
soul! 

What  floods  of  joy  now  o’er  my  spirit  roll ! 

[Snatches  up  some  embroidery.  Enter  Phaon.] 

Phaon.  Hail,  glorious  Sappho,  have  you  time 
to-day 

To  leave  Olympus’  heights,  where  Muses 
dwell, 

To  tread  awhile  this  earth  of  common  clay 
For  my  poor  sake,  a mortal  youth  ? Pray 
tell. 

Or  if  th’  immortal  gods  should  find  it  meet 
Your  radiant  face  to  hold  within  the  skies, 

Why,  I will  sit  here  lonely  at  your  feet, 

And  rend  the  heaven  with  my  heart-deep 
sighs. 

Sappho.  No  need,  my  charming  Phaon;  Muses 
love 

To  leave  the  pearly  palaces  above 


SAPPHO. 


DAMOPHYLA. 


PHAON. 


SAPPHO. 


And  dwell  with  man ; but  most  of  all,  I say, 

Calliope  ’mong  mortals  holds  her  sway. 

Indeed,  I never  tread  Olympus’  height. 

For  my  loved  Muse  for  me  makes  Lesbos 
bright. 

I welcome  you.  No  need  to  rend  the  skies 

With  lamentations  and  with  heavy  sighs. 

Phaon.  If  aught  can  add  unto  your  beauty 
rare, 

It  surely  is  the  gracious,  queenly  art 

With  which  you  bid  me  welcome.  Queen 
most  fair 

You  are,  O Sappho,  over  many  a heart. 

But  now  explain  the  riddling  words  you  said ; 

I cannot  solve  them  in  my  stupid  head. 

Sappho.  Say  not  that  I o’er  many  hearts  hold 
sway ; 

One  heart  is  kingdom  amply  large.  But, 
pray, 

What  riddle  did  I speak  ? I have  forgot, 

Or  when  I said  it,  Phaon,  meant  it  not. 

Phaon.  Calliope  ’mong  men,  I heard  you  say, 

Of  all  the  nine  most  often  comes  to  stay. 

Methought  she  came  but  to  the  favored  few ; 

And  yet  I know  your  thoughts  are  ever  true. 

Sappho.  ’Tis  true,  indeed ; if  you  have  eyes  to 
see, 

She  may  be  found  where’er  on  earth  you  flee ; 

She  dwells  in  shade  and  sunshine,  rain  and 
snow, 

In  palace  grand  and  herdsman’s  cottage  low. 

North,  south,  east,  west,  wherever  you  may 
roam, 

She  is.  The  universe  was  made  her  home. 


+ 

Phaon.  By  Zeus ! ’tis  true ! I see  her  in  your 
eyes, 

Your  lips,  your  hair!  From  out  your  voice 
she  cries ! 

Your  tiny  hands 

Sappho.  Hush!  hush!  be  not  so  bold. 

Phaon.  I’ll  simply  add,  within  the  work  you 
hold, 

And  ask  you  to  forgive  me,  for  your  frown 
As  if  ’twere  lead,  weighs  my  poor  spirit 
down. 

And  now  again  you  smile ! Let  us  forget 
And  have  a happy  talk  together  yet. 

I’m  watching  with  deep  wonder  how  you  ply 
The  needle ; how  it  fairly  seems  to  fly, 

And  like  a ship,  whose  bows  the  water  break, 
It  ever  leaves  behind  a shining  wake. 

I really  long  some  ’broidery  to  do ; 

It  is  so  charming — would  ’twere  manly,  too. 
Sweet  Sappho,  will  you  teach  me  how  to  sew? 

Sappho.  Why,  Phaon,  ’tis  a woman’s  art,  you 
know ! 

Phaon.  Yes,  yes,  I know;  but  if  you’ll  never 
tell, 

I’d  like  to  try.  I’m  sure  I’ll  do  it  well. 

Sappho.  So  be  it.  I as  oracle  would  say 
Your  forces  will  be  conquered  in  the  fray; 
For  enemy  more  sly  will  ne’er  be  seen 
Than  subtle  stitch  and  thread  of  silken  sheen. 

Phaon.  In  truth,  I fear  them  not,  for  they 
shall  know 

That  Phaon  is  a brave  and  hardy  foe. 

Now  to  the  conflict! 


9 


Sappho.  Yes,  your  arms  now  wield. 

[Hands  a needle.]  This  is  your  lance; 
[hands  an  ancient  thimble]  and  this 
must  be  your  shield. 

Phaon  [finding  the  thimble  too  small],  Apollo! 
in  the  small  shell  of  a snail 

You  bid  me  place  a large  and  full-grown 
whale ! 

Sappho.  Does  it  not  fit?  Well,  you  must  learn 
without. 

Here,  take  the  cloth.  No,  turn  it  round 
about. 

Now  take  a stitch  from  underneath,  right 
there. 

Phaon  [having  pulled  the  thread  through]. 
Confound  the  thread ! it  came  through, 
I declare ! 

Sappho.  You  made  no  knot.  There,  tie  the 
end  up  tight. 

Phaon  [pricking  himself ].  Ye  gods  and 

heavens  above ! the  thing  can  bite ! 

Sappho.  Most  boastful  sir,  your  arms  deliver 
now. 

Phaon.  Oh,  never,  never  will  I give  them  up, 
I vow. 

See,  now  I take  the  stitch.  Is  it  not  right  ? 

[Damophyla  enters  the  room  unobserved 
and  stands  watching.  ] 

And  this,  and  this.  Metliinks  'tis  conquered 
quite. 


10 


+ SAPPHO. 


Damophyla  [ to  Phaon].  I would  congratulate 
you,  skilful  maid ; 

But  what  has  made  you  start  and  look 
afraid  ? 

Phaon.  I — nothing.  I was  hut  examining 
This  piece  of  work.  It  is  a lovely  thing. 

Damophyla.  Ah,  yes.  How  I admire  the 
perfect  truth 


Peculiar  to  this  generation’s  youth ! [ Departs 
haughtily.] 

Sappho.  Too  bad,  for  you  were  really  doing 
well. 

Phaon.  Dear  me!  I hope  that  she  will  never 
tell. 

Sappho.  She  will  not.  I'll  request  her  not  to 
say 

What  "most  unmanly  deed  you  did  to-day. 


Phaon.  I thank  you.  But  I trespass  now,  I 
know, 

Upon  your  time,  and  so  I rise  to  go. 
Farewell,  most  glorious  Sappho,  may  I come 
To  visit  you  again  within  your  home  ? 


Sappho.  And  welcome,  sir.  Farewell.  [Exit 
Phaon.] 


Farewell,  farewell, 

My  love,  my  life,  my  more  than  I can  tell ! 


* 


♦ 


SAPPHO. 


ERINNA. 


DAMOPHYLA. 


ATTENDANT. 


a OF  IUL  UB. 


SCENE  II. 


[At  Lesbos,  same  as  before.  Damophyla  bind- 
ing a wreath.  Erinna  near  by.] 

Erinna.  ’Tis  many  moons  since  I,  poor  stranger, 
came 

To  seek  in  this  blest  land  a name  and  fame ; 

But  oh,  how  quickly  have  the  seasons  sped — 

The  happy  hours  with  pleasant  duty  wed! 

I do  not  know  what  pious  deed  I’ve  done 

That  I such  favor  from  the  Fates  have  won. 

Damophyla.  Nor  do  I know  what  deed  you’ve 
ever  done 

That  you  this  happy  fate  should  not  have 
won. 

’Tis  surely  known  unto  the  gods  above 

No  mortal  is  more  worthy  of  their  love. 

Erinna.  You  shame  me,  dear,  by  speaking  too 
much  praise. 

Damophyla.  Then  I will  cease,  nor  set  your 
cheeks  ablaze. 

But  look  you  at  my  wreath.  Is  it  not  sweet  ? 

Erinna.  To  crown  a goddess’  brow  it  would 
be  meet. 

Damophyla.  Ah,  then,  indeed,  I am  well  satis- 
fied. 

To  that  high  office  it  shall  be  applied. 

Erinna,  will  you  grant  me  a request? 

A something  which  you  only  can  do  best  ? 

Erinna.  What  strange  thing  can  that  be? 
With  joy  I lend 

Whatever  powers  I have  to  you,  dear  friend. 

Damophyla.  I wish  that  you  would  make  in 
my  behalf 


A prayer  to  Artemis.  Nay,  do  not  laugh, 
For  surely  she  will  listen  to  your  plea 
Far  sooner  than  she  ever  would  to  me. 

And  you  shall  pray  that  she  will  look  and 
smile 

Upon  the  ode  I write  to  her ; the  while 
I'll  kneel  and  listen.  She  will  not  say  “nay,” 
For  your  sweet  sake. 

Erinna.  Oh,  gladly  will  I pray. 

Damophyla.  There  is  her  image.  You  her 
brows  shall  wreathe, 

And  I will  place  the  lighted  lamp  beneath. 

[They perform  these  tasks , and  kneel  ] 

Erinna.  Thou  goddess  of  the  silver  bow, 

Thou  huntress  of  the  timid  doe, 

List  what  we  say. 

Thou  wearer  of  the  crescent  bright, 

Thou  sliedder  of  the  silver  light, 

Attend,  we  pray. 

We  crown  tliy  image  fair  with  garlands 
damp 

From  early  dew.  We  light  the  sacred  lamp. 
Be  present  with  Damophyla  in  dreams. 

Oh,  shed  on  her  thy  gracious,  silv'ry  beams; 
Display  thy  charms,  so  chaste  and  pure,  ere 
long, 

That  she  may  carve  them  in  immortal  song. 
Thou  goddess  of  the  silver  bow, 

Thou  huntress  of  the  timid  doe, 

Turn  not  away. 

Thou  wearer  of  the  crescent  bright, 

Thou  shedder  of  the  silver  light, 

Be  kind,  we  pray. 


[Both  rise.  Enter  Sappho,  dressed  for  out- 
doors. ] 

Sappho.  Good-by,  fair  maids,  you  see  me  bent 
Upon  a charitable  intent; 

For  one  of  the  unhappy  poor 
Lies  dying  almost  at  our  door. 

Erinna.  Ah ! is  there  aught  that  I can  do  ? 

Damophyla.  And  is  there  nothing  for  me, 
too? 

Sappho.  No,  I will  comfort  these  sad  hours 
And  strew  the  path  of  death  with  flowers, 
Until  her  weary  soul  shall  know 
Forgetfulness  in  shades  below. 

[To  attendant.]  Come,  boy,  we  must 
no  longer  stay. 

Erinna.  May  peace  attend  you  on  your  way. 
[Exit  Sappho.  J 

How  far  our  Star  can  shed  her  light 
For  trav’lers  in  the  lonely  night! 

How  beautiful  she  is;  how  kind; 

How  large  of  heart;  how  great  of  mind! 

To  such  a one  the  Mother  Earth 
Can  surely  ne’er  but  once  give  birth. 

It  seems  all  ills  of  life  to  mend 
To  simply  have  her  for  a friend. 

Damophyla.  How  wild  the  wind  begins  to 
blow! 

And  look ! far  out  at  sea 
The  billows  tipped  with  foam  like  snow ! 

Erinna.  Ah,  how  it  startles  me! 

For  but  last  night  I dreamed  a dream. 

I thought  the  sky  was  dark, 


14 


Nor  anywhere  a cheering  gleam : 

And,  tossing  in  a bark 
Upon  the  angry,  angry  deep, 

I clung  to  Sappho’s  hand. 

The  waves  went  by  with  fearful  sweep 
And  hurled  us  toward  the  land. 

And  oh ! before  us  loomed  a rock ! 

Its  sides  were  dark  and  steep ; 

We  struck — we  struck  with  awful  shock, 
We  plunged  into  the  deep! 

Oh,  try  to  calm  me  not.  I yet 
Can  see  the  white,  white  spray — 

My  Sappho’s  streaming  locks  of  jet! 

There  came  a gleam  of  day. 

Upon  the  cruel  rock  you  stood. 

You  stretched  a hand  to  save ; 

I could  not  reach  it,  and  the  flood 
Rose  up.  Beneath  the  wave 
We  sank  and  sank.  ’Mid  foam  and  blood 
We  found  an  awful  grave. 

Damophyla.  Erinna,  be  you  not  so  wild. 
Come  sit  you  here,  poor  child,  poor  child ! 
Remember  that  ’tis  but  a dream 
However  vivid  it  may  seem, 

For  you  are  safe  upon  the  land ; 
Damophyla  holds  fast  your  hand. 

And  though  the  wind  goes  rushing  by, 

And  veils  with  clouds  the  azure  sky, 
Within  all  things  are  bright  and  warm, 
Protected  from  the  winter  storm. 

And  for  your  Sappho  have  no  fear. 

Within  a little  cottage  near ; 

For  quickly,  should  some  danger  lower, 
Her  feet  could  reach  our  sheltered  door. 

Erins'  v.  I thank  you  for  the  words  you  say. 


+ SAPPHO.  + 

To  what  strange  thoughts  I’ve  been  a prey ! 
I’ll  now  dispense  with  all  my  fears, 

Nor  for  a fantasy  shed  tears. 

But  lately  I have  had  some  care : 

I wonder  if  you  are  aware 

How  deep  the  love  my  Star  bestows 

Upon  that  Phaon.  Ne’er  arose, 

I’m  sure,  a love  within  my  breast 
That  caused  such  joy — such  wild  unrest. 

Damophyla.  Methinks  you  have  deceived 
your  eyes. 

Such  worthless  love  could  ne’er  arise 
In  virtue-loving  Sappho’s  breast. 

Erinna  . But  ah,  I have  a surer  test. 

For  Sappho  poured  into  these  ears 
Her  tale  of  love  and  joy  and  fears. 

Damophyla.  ’Tis  strange,  ’tis  very,  very 

strange ! 

She  seemed  above  the  love-god’s  range, 
Engaged,  I thought,  in  nobler  arts 
Than  giving  smiles  and  winning  hearts. 

But  does  he  share  with  her  his  love? 

Erinna.  ’Tis  known  but  to  the  gods  above. 

He  calls  her  beautiful  and  fair. 

He  sings  the  praises  of  her  hair, 

He  raves  about  her  queenly  head, 

But  still  he  never  once  has  said, 

“I  love  you,  dear.”  I know  him  far 
Unworthy  of  my  shining  Star, 

And  yet  she  loves  him.  Would  he  prize 
Her  precious  love,  he’d  surely  rise 
To  merit  it;  for  all  must  know 
That  into  what  we  love  we  grow. 
Damophyla.  I like  him  not.  He  is  as  light 


And  prone  to  change  as  cloudlets  white. 

I’ve  heard  the  village  women  tell 
He  loves  the  rattling  dice  too  well, 

The  merry  feast,  the  sparkling  drink. 

From  war’s  alarms  he’d  run,  I think. 

[Enter  Phaon  with  how  and  arrows.] 
Phaon.  Fair  maids,  may  I find  shelter  here 
From  howling  winds  and  heavens  drear? 
Most  lavishly  the  rain  clouds  pour 
From  laden  skies  their  garnered  store. 

Erinna.  Quite  welcome,  sir.  Be  seated,  pray. 

Phaon.  I thank  you.  I was  far  away 
Upon  the  hunt  when  all  the  skies 
Began  to  cloud  and  winds  to  rise. 

I found  me  here  before  the  door 
When  first  the  rain  began  to  pour. 

Damophyla.  And  did  your  garment’s  scarlet 
stain 

Lose  any  freshness  from  the  rain? 

Phaon.  I know  not.  Cared  I not  for  wetted 
skin 

But  wished  for  some  excuse  to  come  within. 
Damophyla.  Indeed  ? 

Erinna.  But  in  the  hunt  to  day  pray  tell 

If  anything  of  interest  befell. 

Phaon.  There’s  naught,  I fear,  to  tell.  We 
met  with  game 

No  bigger  than  a dove.  I took  sure  aim 
And  down  the  little  creature  fell,  stone  dead. 
My  arrow  having  pierced  straight  through 
its  head. 

There  was  a flight  of  vultures  on  our  left 


ERINNA. 


DAMOPHYLA. 


PHAON. 


ATTENDANT. 


SAPPHO. 


ATTENDANT. 


ATTENDANT. 


SAPPHO. 


17 


And  my  companion  brought  one  down  most 
deft. 

They  say  that  ’tis  a sign  betokens  ill ; 

I never  let  such  worries  my  head  fill. 

For  whatsoe’er  the  Fates  decide  shall  be, 

Not  Zeus  himself  can  change  by  his  decree ; 
So  think  the  good  and  pious.  If  ’tis  so, 

Why  not  enjoy  the  moments  as  they  go  ? 

If  not — but  I’ll  not  shock  your  pious  mind 
With  doubting  words  which  on  my  tongue  I 
find. 

Erinna.  Oh,  say  them  not,  for  angry  Zeus  this 
hour 

Might  strike  you  with  his  thunderbolts  of 
power. 

Damophyla.  Excuse  me,  but  I fear  you  long 
to  know 

Where  tarries  Sappho's  charms  of  jet  and 
snow. 

She  is  within  a peasant’s  cottage  near, 

To  lay  the  dead  upon  the  funeral  bier. 

Phaon.  Forgive  me  if  you  deem  my  speech 
too  bold, 

But  I’m  content  with  charms  of  snow  and 
gold.  [Erinna  starts  up  with  a cry  autl 
rims  out  of  the  room.] 

Can  I have  grieved  that  tender  hearted  maid 
By  anything  which  I just  now  have  said  V 

Damophyla.  No  doubt  your  recent  words 
caused  tears  to  start 
From  jealousies  arising  in  her  heart. 

Phaon.  I ill  can  brook  your  cruel  words  of 
scorn, 


Have  pity  on  me,  standing  here  forlorn, 

And  let  me  nearer  come,  though  ’tis  to  hear 
Cold,  stinging  words  most  hard  for  me  to 
bear. 

Damophyla.  No,  stay  you  where  you  are. 
Do  not  desire 

To  kindle  in  me  anger’s  flaming  fire. 

Phaon.  I'll  dare  to  brave  your  anger’s  flaming 
breath, 

For  if  I die  near  you  ’twere  happy  death. 
Pray  tell  me  why  you  scorn  me  with  such 
hate, 

And  why  from  you  I merit  such  a fate  ? 

0 my  Damophyla,  I love  but  you ! 

[Seizes  her  hand.] 

Damophyla.  Unhand  me,  or  your  rashness 
you  shall  rue ! 

Now  listen,  sir,  if  you  desire  to  learn 
How  much  contempt  and  scorn  within  me 
burn. 

Some  months  ago,  the  day  I found  the  child 
Who  stole  away  to  hunt  for  berries  wild, 
While  resting  by  the  fountain,  in  the  shade, 

1 saw  you  walking  with  a village  maid. 

Pray  tell  me  why  she  pines  with  moan  and 

tear. 

And  why  to  day  she  dies  with  Sappho  near  ? 

Phaon.  You  crush  me  with  a weight  of  scorn 
and  doubt! 

By  Zeus!  I know  not  what  her  grief’s  about. 
I swear  by  all  the  earth  and  heavens  above 
I never  once  have  spoke  to  her  of  love ; 

And  if  I ever  caused  her  any  woe, 


I swear  by  death  itself  I did  not  know. 

Damophyla.  I would  you  spoke  the  truth. 
Nor  is  that  all. 

No  doubt  you  bound  great  Sappho  in  your 
thrall 

Unconsciously.  No  doubt  you  do  not  drag 
Her  name  into  your  feasts,  nor  ever  brag 
To  your  companions  how  you’ve  pierced  her 
heart 

Quite  easily  with  Eros’  stinging  darts. 

Phaon.  Ye  gods!  you  drive  me  wild!  Go  not 
away. 

In  pity  list  to  but  one  word,  I pray ; 

To  gain  one  sight  of  you  alone  I came. 

Nor  dreamed  I of  incurring  thus  your  blame. 
Go  not  away,  oh,  look  with  pitying  eye 
Just  once  upon  me!  Say  if  hope  must  die. 

Damophyla.  It  must. 

[Exit  Damophyla.] 

Phaon.  My  heart,  this  is  the  bitter  end. 

What  joy  or  gladness  now  has  life  to  lend? 
Where  shall  I go?  Where  lay  my  weary 
head? 

My  heart,  my  heart,  your  hope  is  dead,  is 
dead ! 

[Enter  Erinna  ] 

Erinna.  Reluctantly,  oh,  sir,  I've  thrown  aside 
My  woman’s  shame,  my  woman’s  sense  of 
pride, 

And  I have  come  to  tell  you,  if  I may, 

What  ’tis,  I know,  no  woman’s  place  to  say. 
But  oh,  indeed,  my  very  life  I’d  give, 

If  only  joy  in  Sappho’s  heart  could  live ; 


18 


4- 


SAPPHO. 


For  slie,  I fear,  is  doomed  to  awful  pain, 
Unless  from  you  some  pity  she  can  gain. 
Great  Sappho  loves  you.  Sappho,  queen  of 
song, 

Gives  you  her  love,  long  sought  by  noble 
throng. 

Oh,  wear  the  priceless  jewel  on  your  breast, 
Tis  there  alone  for  it  is  peaceful  rest. 

Why  look  you  not  rejoiced?  Sure  happier  lot 
Than  this  were  ne’er  to  mortal  creature 
brought. 

Phaon.  And  can  you  stand  and  ask  me  to  be 
glad 

Who  mourneth  for  the  dead?  Ah,  bitter  sad 
Am  I — too  sad— too  sad — too  bitter  sad 
To  e’er  again  upon  this  earth  be  glad. 

Erinna.  Ah,  my  poor  Phaon,  has  the  chill  of 
death 

Deprived  a parent  or  some  friend  of  breath? 
Phaon.  My  hope  is  dead. 

Erinna.  But  Sappho  loves  you  still. 

With  Sappho  at  your  side,  what  fear  of  ill? 

Phaon.  Prate  not  to  me  of  Sappho. 

[Exit  Erinna  in  despair.] 

At  my  side 

Will  you  ne’er  walk,  Damophyla,  a bride? 
[Enter  Sappho.] 

Sappho.  Well,  Phaon,  have  you  refuge  from  the 
rain? 

But  why  upon  your  brow  those  knots  of 
pain? 

What  ails  you?  What  is  this? 


4- 

Phaon.  She  loves  me  not. 

Oh,  point  to  me  some  place — some  happy 
spot 

Of  sweet  forgetfulness. 

Sappho.  Who  does  not  love? 

Phaon.  Damophyla,  my  life,  my  spotless  dove. 

Sappho  [aside].  Oh,  heavens,  my  heart ! | Heels 
as  if  to  faint,  but  recovers.] 

Phaon.  She  bids  my  hope  be  dead, 

Oh,  where  on  earth  to  lay  my  weary  head 
I know  not, 

Sappho.  Phaon,  pray  thee  do  not  weep, 

Hope  is  not  dead,  it  lieth  in  a sleep; 

It  sleepeth,  but  it  yet  may  wake  and  rise. 

A maid’s  first  answer  naught  of  truth  implies ; 
Despair  you  not  ere  you  have  fairly  tried — 
Damophyla  may  yet  become  your  bride. 

Phaon.  Can  it  be  true?  Into  the  wind  and  rain 
I go  to  still  the  ravings  of  my  brain. 

“Hope  sleepeth,  but  it  yet  may  wake  and 
rise.” 

Oh,  grant  that  it  be  true,  ye  weeping  skies! 
[Exit  Phaon  ] 

Sappho.  For  you  hope  sleepeth,  but  for  me  it 
dies. 

Oh,  fall  and  crush  me,  all  ye  heavy  skies! 

Ah,  ye  can  weep,  ye  skies,  ye  blessed  skies! 
But  healing  tears  come  not  into  my  eyes; 
They  pour  into  my  heart.  It  soon  must 
break : 

It  is  so  full — so  heavy  for  his  sake. 

My  sobs,  be  still ! What  is  that  ye  say, 


Ye  billows  rolling  in  the  deep  at  play? 

I hear  your  voice,  your  words  are  all  un- 
plain, 

Ye  murmur  something  o’er  and  o'er  again. 
Speak  louder,  for  ye  seem  to  soothe  my  woe. 
How  like  to  me  is  your  wild  ebb  and  flow! 
Ye  break  and  break  and  break  upon  the  wall 
Of  cruel  rocks.  In  vain  ye  rise  and  fall. 

Nor  do  the  high  cliffs  bend  nor  softer  grow 
Howe’er  ye  wash  them  in  your  ebb  and  flow. 
Ye  mighty  cliffs  that  overcome  the  sea, 

My  Phaon’s  heart  is  harder  far  toward  me. 
Ail,  me,  what  is  it  that  the  billows  say? 
Speak  louder  still,  nay,  louder  yet,  I pray! 
Ah!  now  I understand,  “Come  home,  come 
home,” 

Ye  say,  “ nor  longer  there  in  sadness  roam, 
For  we  will  fold  you,  sister,  to  our  breast.  ” 
I come,  dear  ones,  to  gain  your  promised 
rest. 

[Enter  Erinna  weeping.  ] 

Mourn  not  for  me,  I go  to  find  a home 
Amid  the  ever-rolling  billows’  foam. 

Do  ye  not  hear  them  calling?  Fare  you  well. 
They  are  my  sisters.  There  in  peace  1 11 
dwell. 

Erinna.  Oh,  take  me,  too;  I care  not  here  to 
stay. 

Sappho.  They  call  you  not.  They  murmur 
“nay ‘’and  “nay.” 

Farewell,  sweet  home,  where  I no  more  shall 
dwell : 

Through  all  eternity,  farewell,  farewell ! 
[Exit  Sappho.] 


ATTENDANT. 


ATTENDANT. 


SAPPHO. 


21 


Erinna.  And  is  she  gone  to  find  a cruel  grave? 
’Twere  far  more  sad  the  pain  of  life  to  brave. 
Forme,  ah,  nevermore  can  earth  be  bright; 
My  lovely  Star  has  set  in  deepest  night. 

[Exit  Erinna.  Enter  Damophyla.] 

Damophyla.  I know  not  why  I feel  so  sore 
distressed ; 

By  strange  forebodings  is  my  heart  op- 
pressed. 

Methinks  that  I was  cruel,  yea,  and  cold 
To  Phaon,  for  perchance  the  truth  he  told. 
His  yearning  cry  and  look  of  wild  despair 
Have  filled  my  heart  with  anxious  thought 
and  care. 

Who  knows  how  far  this  grief  will  lead  the 
youth  ? 

I almost  think  he  loves  me,  for  in  truth 
I never  saw  a mortal  being  pour 
From  burning  eyes  such  looks  of  love  before. 
I wish  he’d  come  again,  and  I would  give, 
Perhaps,  one  word  whereby  his  hope  might 
live. 

[Enter  Phaon.] 

Phaon.  Damophyla,  I pray,  give  me  relief. 

I can  no  longer  bear  this  awful  grief ; 

’Twill  madden  me ' ’Twill  drive  me  to  the 
grave ! 

Oh,  have  you  not  one  word  with  which  to 
save  ? 

You  listen!  oh,  you  smile!  It  is  a dream 
That  you  so  cold  and  cruel  once  could  seem. 
Oh,  give  one  word  of  hope — just  one,  I pray, 
That  1 may  win  your  love  some  happy  day ! 


Damophyla.  But  ere  I grant  to  you  the  boon 
you  ask, 

Will  you  for  me  perform  a heavy  task  ? 

Phaon.  A task?  Oh,  anything!  But  do  not 
say 

A task,  for  work  for  you,  my  love,  is  play. 

Oh,  I could  move  the  world  and  mount  the 
skies 

Could  I see  hope  of  love  within  your  eyes! 

Damophyla.  Then  listen.  You  must  climb 
the  mountain  steep, 

And  dwell  among  the  keepers  of  the  sheep ; 

To  join  their  number,  and  to  tend  the  flocks, 

And  pasture  them  amid  the  flinty  rocks. 

Oh,  boldly  face  the  winter’s  snow  and  sleet: 

The  springtime’s  brawling  torrent  bravely 
meet; 

Turn  not  away  from  summer’s  burning  heat. 

Nor  autumn’s  howling  tempests,  fierce  and 
fleet. 

Until  the  second  springtime  there  remain; 

Dare  not  before  to  see  my  face  again. 

On  this  condition  will  I grant  you  hope. 

Have  you  the  strength  with  hardship  thus  to 
cope  ? 

Phaon.  But  oh,  how  long  ere  we  shall  meet 
again ! 

How  many  moons  must  wax  and  then  must 
wane ! 

Ah,  me,  how  slow  will  seem  each  dreary  day ' 

Can  I not  win  you  by  some  shorter  way  ? 

Damophyla.  No,  no!  a brute  with  muscles 
strong  and  great 


Might  do  some  deed  of  swiftness,  lift  some 
weight. 

It  takes  a man  with  patient  care  to  do 

Some  homely  task  the  lagging  seasons 
through. 

It  is  the  greatest  strength  o'er  self  to  reign, 

Each  rash  desire  and  impulse  to  restrain. 

Naught  but  a man  can  ever  win  my  love. 

Now  go,  and  by  this  task  your  manhood 
prove. 

Phaon.  I go : hut  must  we  thus  so  coldly  part  ? 

Damophyla.  Then  take  my  hand  just  once 
before  you  start. 

Phaon  [kissing  her  hand].  This  little  hand  I 
ne’er  before  have  pressed, 

’Twas  made,  I’m  sure,  to  simply  be  caressed. 

[Exit  Damophyla.] 

Ah,  me,  she’s  gone!  and  I have  trials  to 
meet. 

Ye  Coming  Seasons,  pray  thee  he  most  fleet! 

O Will,  now  give  me  strength,  I beg,  to 
leave 

This  perfumed  air  wherein  her  nostrils 
breathe. 

How  oft  these  downy  cushions  has  she 
pressed ! 

’Twas  here,  I think,  her  dimpled  arm  did 
rest ! 

And  sure  this  garland  her  dear  hand  did 
make ; 

What  harm  if  I from  it  one  flower  should 
take  ? 

Great  Artemis,  thou  maiden  goddess  bright. 

My  love  has  lit  for  thee  this  sacred  light, 


For  oft  of  olcl,  Saleni,  was  she  prone 
To  worship  at  thy  sacred  silver  throne. 
Endymion  with  love  has  filled  thy  heart, 

A love  like  thine  to  my  dear  love  impart; 

Oh,  grant  both  this  and  what  I anxious 
crave ! 

My  love  to  thee  this  flowery  garland  gave ; 
Permit  me  but  one  simple  flower  to  take, 
And  be  not  angry  for  Endymion’s  sake. 

| Taken  a rosebud  ] 


+ SAPPHO.  + 

This  little  bud  more  precious  is  by  far 
Than  gem  of  gold  or  flashing  diamond  star. 
Should  all  the  earth  from  out  its  bosom  pour 
Its  priceless  gems,  its  hidden  treasure  store ; 
Nay,  should  the  miser  sea  its  riches  yield 
And  join  them  to  the  rest  for  me  unsealed, 
They  all  could  not  induce  me  to  resign 
This  simple  little  rosebud-flower  of  mine. 

But  I must  to  my  future  task  away 
Howe’er  I long  in  this  sweet  spot  to  stay. 


I’ll  cover  up  my  eyes  lest  I may  see 
Some  consecrated  thing  once  touched  by 
thee, 

My  love,  my  love,  my  precious  light  of  day ! 
And,  loath  to  part  with  it,  make  more  delay. 
With  eyes  as  filled  with  darkness  as  my 
heart, 

From  thee,  my  very  soul,  I now  depart. 
[Exit  with  eyes  shrouded  in  cloak.] 


DAMOPHYLA. 


PHAON. 


ATTENDANT. 


SCENE  III. 


[At  Rhodes.  Erinna  seated  among  spinning 
implements .] 

Erinna.  Ye  Fates,  what  justice  is  there  in 
your  sway  V 

Why  rule  ye  with  a partial  hand  alway  ? 

I bring  ’gainst  you  this  charge  before  I die : 
Ye  look  upon  the  good  with  scornful  eye, 

Ye  bring  the  wicked  high,  the  pious  low, 
Your  gift  unto  the  good  is  endless  woe. 
Before  my  soul  I dare  you  now  to  say 
Where  is  the  justice  of  your  wonted  way. 
Can  ye  explain  how  Sappho  has  deserved 
The  bitter  lot  which  ye  for  her  reserved  ? 

Her  life,  so  spotless,  merited  no  blame. 

Ye  gave  to  her  a blackened,  tarnished  name; 
Her  days  she  filled  with  kindest  actions  done, 
When,  in  what  way,  has  she  your  kindness 
won  ? 

Her  love  was  true  in  purest  whiteness 
dressed, 

Ye  plunged  it  as  a sword  into  her  breast. 

And  I — have  I committed  any  sin, 

That  I from  you  a breaking  heart  should 
win  ? 

Cold,  cruel  Fates,  ye  are  as  hard  as  stone, 

As  deaf,  and  more  unwilling  to  atone. 

If  I should  kneel  before  you,  yea,  should 
plead 

On  bended  knee,  ye  would  not  hear  nor 
heed; 

But  simply  crying  your  harsh  words,  ‘ ‘Thou 
must!  ” 

Would  leave  me  trampled  in  the  very  dust. 
I feel  your  cruel  shackles  o’er  me  cast, 

I feel  them  binding  me  so  fast — so  fast. 


Can  I not  break  them  ? Off , thou  iron  chain ! 
Thy  crushing  weight  my  soul  will  not  sus- 
tain. 

It  binds  me  tighter ! Help!  I faint!  I die! 
[Enter  Sappho’s  Spirit.] 

Sappho's  Spirit.  Erinna,  far  away  I heard 
thy  cry, 

And  came  with  haste  to  bring  to  thee  relief. 
What  wishest  thou  ? My  space  of  time  is 
brief. 

Erinna.  Most  blessed  spirit,  thou  with  woe 
didst  weep 

In  life,  and  anxious  vigils  thou  didst  keep. 
Unmerited  they  were.  I pray  thee  tell 
What  justice  in  the  heart  of  Fate  doth  dwell. 
Why  do  I perish  here,  amid  the  gloom, 

With  grief  for  thee  and  hatred  for  the  loom  ? 

Sappho's  Spirit.  There  are  no  Fates,  but  man 
to  mortal  man 

Is  bound  by  endless  ties ; nor  ever  can 
He  break  from  these.  Thy  present  life  is 
tied 

To  every  life  existing,  far  and  wide. 

’Tis  bound  to  every  life  within  the  past 
By  adamantine  chains  linked  firm  and  fast. 
’Tis  binding  to  itself  each  life  to  be. 

From  these,  thy  ties,  the  world  will  ne’er  be 
free. 

Erinna.  But  still,  where  is  the  justice  ? 

Sappho’s  Spirit.  There  is  One 

More  bright  than  all  the  brilliance  of  the  sun ; 
More  wise  than  all  the  wit  of  sages  old ; 

More  loving  than  all  love  by  singers  told. 


He  made  the  universe  in  wondrous  way ; 

His  awful  power  no  words  can  ever  say ; 

But  know,  the  richest  wealth  He  can  bestow, 
It  is  to  share  with  men  their  heavy  woe. 

Erinna.  I know  it  not.  What  good  has  woe 
e’er  given  ? 

Sappho’s  Spirit.  The  joy  is  not  of  earth,  it  is 
of  heaven. 

Each  pang  for  fellow-creatures  borne  on 
earth 

Within  thy  soul  to  thousand  joys  gives  birth. 
Rejoice  that  thou  thy  fellow’s  pain  dost  bear. 
Rejoice  that  thou  art  bowed  with  grief  and 
care; 

For  soon  from  out  this  dreary  world  of  night 
Thy  soul  to  happy  realms  shall  take  its  flight. 

Erinna.  Oh,  stay  one  moment,  Spirit,  truly 
tell — 

Are  there  no  gloomy  shades  where  I must 
dwell  ? 

Must  I not  cross  the  dark  and  silent  stream 
Unto  a place  bereft  of  sunshine’s  gleam  ? 

Sappho’s  Spirit.  You  still  must  cross  the 
dark  and  silent  stream 
Unto  a place  where  is  no  sun’s  bright  beam, 
But  where  is  One  who  sheds  a glowing  light 
Than  myriad  suns  more  blessed  and  more 
bright. 

Erinna.  Oh,  joy ! But  must  I tread  the  sound- 
less halls 

Of  dull  forgetfulness,  whose  misty  walls 
Can  echo  from  the  past  no  laugh  nor  sigh  ? 
Oh,  must  I put  my  soul’s  emotions  by  ? 


26 


SAPPHO. 


Far  rather  would  I moan  with  pain  and 
weep, 

Than  lose  my  powers  in  dull  and  dreamy 
sleep. 

Sappho’s  Spirit.  Nay.  All  thy  senses  soon 
such  strength  will  know 

As  ne’er  can  be  imagined  here  below. 

Full  soon  upon  thy  free,  unfettered  soul 

Emotions  all  undreamed  of  strong  will  roll. 

Erinna.  But  one  more  answer,  Spirit  blest, 
I crave : 

Shall  I meet  thee  beyond  the  gloomy  grave  ? 

And  shall  we  know  the  precious  love  of  old  ? 


+ 


Sappho’s  Spirit.  Our  love  on  earth  our  future 
love  foretold. 

As  weak  it  was  to  what  it  soon  will  be 
As  is  the  grassy  blade  to  mighty  tree. 

I cease.  No  longer,  maiden,  can  I stay, 
They  call  to  me.  I hasten  far  away. 

[Exit  Sappho’s  Spirit.  ] 

Erinna.  No  Fates!  no  dull  forgetfulness!  no 
night ! 

But  love  and  happiness  and  glowing  light! 
I soon  shall  see  it.  Oh,  my  soul,  awake! 
Prepare  thyself  thy  blessed  flight  to  take. 

Oi,  thou  great  One!  before  unloved,  unknown, 
Who  makest  all  the  universe  Thy  throne, 


Thou  who  art  powerful,  other  powers  above, 
And  yet  dost  reign  to  give  us  of  Thy  love, 
My  life  is  past;  nor  shall  I e’er  again 
On  earth  bear  any  grief  for  mortal  men. 

My  life  has  been  too  selfish,  too  unkind — 
Ah,  many  flaws  within  my  soul  I find ; 

And  yet  Thou  lovest  me.  O loving  One, 
Forgive  me  all  the  evil  I have  done. 

O strong  and  powerful  One!  by  Thy  great 
might 

Allow  each  deed  to  work  but  for  the  right. 
Great,  loving  One,  I see  at  last  Thy  light ! 
Adieu  forevermore,  O earthly  night! 

[Falls  bach ■ dead.] 


SCENE  IV. 


[At  Lesbos.  Damophyla  embroidering.  ] 

Damophyla.  Springtime  again!  The  second 
springtime  bloom 

Since  that  dread  winter  filled  with  awful 
gloom. 

And  with  the  budding  flowers  a budding 
hope ; 

May  flowers  and  hope  ere  long  in  blossom 
ope! 

Oh,  will  he  come,  the  Phaon  of  my  dream  ? 
Will  the  real  Phaon  true  and  noble  seem  ? 
Will  Phaon  when  he  stands  before  me  be 
The  Phaon  who  by  fancy’s  eyes  I see  ? 

0 long-lost  Sappho,  from  me  shall  I send 
The  prize  for  lack  of  which  your  life  did  end  ? 
Love  is  the  need  of  every  human  heart — 
When  love  is  dead,  the  virtues  all  depart. 
One  craves  the  love  of  many,  and  desires 
By  many  little  loves  to  light  joy’s  fires. 
Another  longs  but  one  whole  heart  to  gain ; 
One  form  alone  within  his  breast  can  reign. 
Methinks  that  every  soul  in  search  of  rest 
One  plan  tries  first,  and  when,  at  his  behest, 
He  finds  that  which  he  wanted  in  his  breast, 
He  longs  for  joy  the  other  plan  to  test. 

1 used  to  think  that  all  my  soul  desired 
Was  simply  by  a host  to  be  admired. 

I've  tasted  it  and  found  it  not  so  sweet 

As  I had  thought.  The  other  plan  I'll  greet. 
But  why  do  I deceive  myself  and  say 
I will  that  I shall  love.  My  heart,  nay.  nay. 
You  love  already.  This  I tell  you  plain : 

The  form  of  Phaon  rules  in  your  domain. 
When  he  shall  come  you'll  take  him  as  he  is. 
And  love  his  very  faults  because  they're  his, 


Of  yore  I never  would  have  thus  confessed 
A fond  and  foolish  weakness  in  my  breast ; 
But  softening  grief  within  my  soul  I bear, 
And  it  has  left  a gentle  impress  there. 

[ Enter  Phaon.  Damophyla  gives  a cry  of  joy.  ] 

Phaon.  My  dearest  love,  a joyous  light  I see 
Within  your  eyes!  Is  that  sweet  light  for 
me  ? 

Damophyla.  How  very  unexpected  do  you 
come ! 

I had  no  news  of  your  arrival  home. 

Phaon.  Our  ship  arrived  but  one  short  hour 
ago ; 

I hastened  here  my  future  fate  to  know. 

Oh,  tell  me  soon. 

Damophyla.  Be  seated,  Phaon ; pray, 

Did  gentle  wings  attend  your  homeward 
way  ? 

Phaon.  Aye,  gentle,  sweet  and  blessed,  for 
they  bore 

My  bark  most  swiftly  to  this  lovely  shore 
Whereon  you  dwell.  Damophyla,  I've  done 
Most  faithfully  my  task,  and  I have  won 
The  manly  virtues — courage,  patience,  power 
O’er  self  to  reign.  Through  every  busy  hour 
My  love  for  you  has  grown  in  strength,  until 
It  seems  the  mighty  universe  to  thrill; 

As  strong  and  true  was  never  love  before. 
All  selfish  was  my  love  for  you  before, 

But  now,  Damophyla,  should  you  declare 
“ I love  you  not,  nor  ever  can,”  I swear 
I would  not  strive  to  darken  all  your  life 
By  urging  you,  my  love,  to  be  my  wife. 


But,  O ye  Fates,  grant  that  it  be  not  so; 
Apportion  not  to  me  this  lot  of  woe ! 

Damophyla.  But  of  your  mountain  life  I pray 
you  tell. 

You  seem,  indeed,  to  be  most  strong  and 
well. 

Phaon.  Ah,  me,  you  make  delay.  Well,  yes, 
the  wealth 

I’ve  surely  found  of  perfect  ruddy  health. 
But  you,  I fear,  a paler  cheek  have  gained. 
The  while  these  many  moons  have  waxed  and 
waned. 

’Tis  sorrow’s  traces  in  your  face  I see, 

And  I,  in  truth,  have  not  been  sorrow  free. 
Regret  and  pain  have  often  chilled  me 
through ; 

My  consolation,  dear  one,  was  in  you. 
Damophyla,  my  loved  one,  do  you  know 
That  whatsoe'er  I am  to  you  I owe? 

Twas  you  who  pointed  out  my  erring 
ways — 

All  others  gave  me  naught  but  smiles  and 
praise. 

You  dared  to  frown  upon  each  fault.  You 
showed 

The  path  that  leads  to  virtue’s  peaceful  road. 
As  great  the  reverence  for  you  I feel 
As  is  my  love.  Oh,  I could  even  kneel 
And  worship  you  as  one  too  pure,  too  bright, 
To  dwell  in  any  place  but  heaven’s  height. 
Damophyla.  No,  no,  my  Phaon,  quickly, 
please,  arise. 

No  goddess  am  I save  unto  your  eyes. 

I know  my  faults,  nor  would  I,  Phaon,  dare 
To  be  your  wife  were  you,  too,  not  aware 


28 


+ SAPPHO. 


How  great  they  are ; for  wlieu  you'd  knowl- 
edge gain 

Too  late  of  them,  ’twould  cause  you  grief 
and  pain, 

And  I perchance  should  lose  your  love. 

Phaon.  Oh,  say 

Not  so.  My  love  for  you  will  ever  stay. 
Believe  me,  dear,  my  eyes  have  learned  to 
read 

Most  clearly  character  from  word  and  deed. 
You  are  too  honest  e’er  to  show  outside 
The  best  of  you,  and  all  the  worst  to  hide. 
Pray  give  me  now  the  answer  that  I crave: 
Oh,  be  my  wife!  Look  up,  dear  one!  Be 
brave 

To  whisper  ‘ ‘yes ! ” 

Damophyla.  Now,  Phaon,  pry  thee,  wait. 
I’ll  give  my  answer  at  a time  more  late; 

For  I must  think  in  solitude. 

Phaon.  Oh,  no, 

Be  kind.  Compel  me  not  in  doubt  to  go. 

Or  if  a space  of  solitude  you  need, 


I'll  run  into  the  court  and  back  with  speed. 
Oh,  let  this  red,  red  rose  of  beauty  rest, 
When  I return,  as  “yes”  upon  your  breast. 

Damophyla.  But  what  shall  answer  “no?” 

Phaon.  Alas,  ah,  me, 

If  it  be  “ no,”  let  me  no  blossom  see; 

For  blossoms  bright  would  mock  my  heart’s 
deep  gloom, 

If  it  be  “ no.”  oh,  wear  no  blossom’s  bloom. 
I'll  soon  return. 

Damophyla.  A moment  pray,  delay ; 

The  court  too  short  a distance  is  away. 

Go  to  the  old  oak  tree,  and  walk  you  slow ; 
’Twill  leave  scant  time  for  me  my  mind  to 
know. 

Phaon.  Be  kind,  I beg. 

[Exit  Phaon.] 

Damophyla.  Ah,  dear,  could  you  but  read 
My  heart,  no  rose  your  anxious  eyes  would 
need. 


Before  you  came  I loved  you.  Now  I feel 
That  I am  yours  in  life,  for  woe  or  weal. 

[Places  the  rose  on  her  breast.\ 

You  sweetest  emblem  of  my  love,  I place 
You  here  in  all  your  beauty’s  crimson  grace. 
Did  you  but  feel  the  weight  of  bliss  you  bear. 
How  soon  'twould  crush  your  petals  frail  and 
fair ! 

But  joy  is  light!  it  floats  on  airy  wings. 

A myriad  garlands  over  me  it  flings, 

And  with  me  now  I feel  it  lightly  soar 
To  heights  that  I have  never  known  before. 
But  Phaon  comes!  how  quickly  did  he  go! 
Sweet  love  could  never  walk  with  footstep 
slow. 

[Enter  Phaon  .] 

Phaon.  She  wears  the  red,  red  rose ! Light  of 
my  life. 

This  holy  word  I speak — call  you  my  wife. 
Kneel  I before  you  here  speaking  my  vow : 
Evermore  shall  I love  even  as  now. 

[Kneels  and  kisses  the  hem  of  her  garment .] 


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